Arm'd with Hell flames and fury all at once
by liliumweiss
Summary: It should've been easy: hike up the hill, vanish the ghost, go back home, possibly without being killed or possessed in the meantime. But fighting monsters had never been easy, not even when hunters made it appear so. When hunting, things never go as planned, and sure as hell the girl you like doesn't bring a puppy along, and you surely aren't keeping secrets from your friends.


**helloooooo there! And HAPPY BIRTHDAY kmomof4 ! My dear, may your day be beautiful and wonderful as you are This is my cspupstravaganza contribution, but also my birthday gift for you. Well, _part_ of it, since I also have another event coming up and this thing escalated a biiiiiiiit too much. I still hope you like it :3 (also, sorry, but no Walsh in here hehe)**

**Big, ginormous shoutout to awkwardnessandbaseball and snowbellewells for helping me with this fic - apparently, using not one, but _two_ sets of eyes to go over your fic means you don't need your glasses anymore. Thank you, dear ladies, you are awesome **

**Arm'd with Hell flames and fury all at once**

**Chapter 1**

«Bloody ley lines.»

Killian looked at the sky. No, he _glared_ at it.

Storybrooke, Maine, an almost deserted town in the middle of nowhere, next to the ocean. Peculiarity of said little town was its location. No, not quite the middle of nowhere, but its longitude and latitude, which corresponded to the intersection of several ley lines. Not just two. _Several_.

«You say something, Jones?»

Will's voice startled him, and all his gracefulness left him, sending him almost face first on the muddy ground.

At least his reflexes weren't useless, unlike his sixth sense, or whatever one might call his superpower of sorts. The ley lines kept fucking it up, to put it nicely, always messing with his perception of supernatural beings.

Ah, yes. Right. The supernatural beings.

Well, ley lines were important vessels of pure magic, their intersections places where witches and warlocks performed rituals - and sometimes even summoned… _things_.

Said intersections were also the most common places where to find dangerous creatures.

Perhaps dangerous wasn't the right adjective, though. Or rather, it was, but much like there were evil witches, there were also good ones. And werewolves, too. Vampires… jury was still out on that one.

«Nay, Scarlett, it's not as if I have any air left in my lungs to even breathe!»

That was a lie, of course. Not only because he'd just formed a sentence, but because of the ley lines as well.

Why he'd stayed in Storybrooke was beyond him. Well, that was another lie.

He looked back, where a blonde young woman was struggling with the steep slope, her palms and fingers red and covered in scratches as she tightened her grip on the lowest branch she could reach.

Killian bit his lower lip, ultimately letting himself slip lower to help her up. When she gave him a grateful smile, Killian felt all the air leave his lungs. So much for still being able to breathe. That happened quite often when Emma Swan was involved. Or was not. Even just a mention of her name was enough to make his heart beat wildly in his chest. And leave him breathless, apparently.

«You are all drama queens.» Will rolled his eyes, resuming the hike.

«Do you think I'd go to hell if I shot him?»

It took Killian a few moments before realizing Emma was speaking to him, too focused on her hand resting on his forearm. When he did, his complexion turned as red as the berries growing in a bush a few feet from them «I-I think they'd make you a Saint instead.»

_Smooth, Jones, bloody smooth_.

The faint blush colouring the apples of her cheeks made him grin.

«Hey, lovebirds,» Robin shouted from way above them, somewhere beyond the trees in their line of sight, «stop whatever you are doing that's scaring the squirrels and keep walking!»

Killian choked on air whilst Emma's face was so red it started to radiate heat.

The two of them being lovebirds was a common joke among their friends, borne out of nowhere - or so they thought, because they totally didn't yearn or make eyes at each other - and no one ever let the occasion to say something about them slip away. For their part, Emma and Killian just rolled their eyes, flushing red, of course, but dismissed those jokes with a shrug or a wave of the hand.

«You think in Heaven they'll have space for two Saints if we kill them both?» Emma muttered, adjusting the strap of the admittedly huge backpack she was carrying. It wasn't like her to carry such bulky baggage. Usually, in fact, all she required were several daggers hidden all over her body - and Killian definitely had never dreamt of searching for those daggers himself, _ever_ \- and the occasional wooden stick to stab vampires with. And her trusted gun with magazines of silver bullets. She couldn't possibly be carrying a crossbow in there. Besides, there was something about it that didn't sit quite right with him, now that he looked at it more closely.

His attention snapped back to Emma herself when she moved forward, using him as a support. Why couldn't they go find haunted houses near the sea? Or take the actual road to get there? It wasn't as if ghosts could escape the confines of the property they haunted.

But no, Robin had suggested they take the unmarked trail through the woods, never mentioning the climb to get to the tumbledown house.

«We'd better go now. Neither of us is as good at tracking as those two.»

Killian quirked a brow at Emma's words. «Speak for yourself, love. I am indeed very good at navigating the sea, whether it be made of water or wood.»

Emma looked at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement. She opened her mouth to say something surely cutting but was interrupted by a piercing whistle.

«If I'm sent to Hell, Jones, I'll drag you down with me.»

With that, Emma left a gulping and an alarmingly pale Killian behind.

-/-

The house was exactly the one a brochure would assure you was haunted. Which, by the way, it _was_, but whenever real estate agents claimed a ghost wandered through the halls, all they meant was the abundance of whispers the wind generated and the sinister creaking sounds created by whatever phenomenon had the almost rotten wooden floorboards emit said noise. And they never talked about the cottage deep inside the forest nearby, into which a couple had just moved in with their newborn child and the crying sound one could hear was not some kind of ghost of a child.

However, the houses listed as haunted, were never actually so. This one, instead, was. What was worse, was that it wasn't haunted by a mere spirit, it was haunted by a bloody witch.

Killian could feel it, he could feel _her_ and her power. It was a welcome side effect of his nature, to be able to sense supernatural beings. In the case of Emma Swan, it was a curse. He should've told her. He should've told her many things, first of all that she was a witch, or half-witch, he had no idea who her parents were, much like she didn't.

But, of course, he hadn't, and now it was too late.

The moment they'd settled their eyes on the house, they all knew something was wrong, _really _wrong. Whilst neither Robin or Will were in possession of any kind of powers, they both were seasoned hunters, and whereas their skills were more indicated to hunt down wendigos or woodland creatures, they were deadly against most of all the other beings. They still hunted down werewolves, if they needed to, but Robin's men had stipulated a truce with those creatures after his son, Roland, was bitten, turning into a were himself. It wasn't easy, but everyone was making an effort in the name of their love for Roland.

Emma and Killian weren't exactly part of Robin's men, they were loners - in more ways than one. Given their young age, both of them not even being twenty-five years old yet, Robin had taken them in. Sort of. They still lived their separate lives, but they hunted together, giving Killian and Emma a purpose.

All around them, the place was quiet, _too_ quiet, too _still_, unnaturally so.

Therefore, when Emma's backpack started to whine, three pair of eyes glared at her - in Killian's case, _stared_; he wasn't able to glare at her, unless he was extremely pissed off. It didn't happen often, not with Emma, at least.

Her usually pale complexion turned a bright pink; for the first time, Killian witnessed Emma Swan being truly and utterly embarrassed, so much so that her blush had reached her hairline.

«What the bloody buggerin' hell do you have in that bloody backpack?» Will hissed, moving to stand next to her, wrenching one of the straps from her shoulder.

Emma hissed, clearly both in pain and anger, her eyes reducing to two slits. «What the fuck, Scarlett?»

Her protest fell on deaf ears because the backpack was _literally_ torn open and something black fell on the ground in a heap of four… _five_ legs? No, no, there were four of those, _and_ a tail. A long one. A, black, fluffy one. It wasn't the only fluffy thing, though, _everything_ of that _creature_ was black and fluffy and-

«Why the bloody hell did you bring that bloody thing here of all the bloody places on this bloody buggering earth?»

The amount of "bloody" Will managed to insert in that sentence was nothing compared to whatever _bloody_ that creature could do. Killian's eyes widened when he realized what it was, something he'd never seen but knew about. And the stories he'd heard did not have a happy ending.

«_Fenrir_ is a dog, as you can clearly see, Scarlett. Do I need to tell Whale to check your eyes?» Emma snapped, staring daggers at the man as she knelt down to check on the pup, who was wagging his tail. When he started to lick Emma's fingers, Killian sucked in a breath. Everything he was seeing was making all his beliefs on the matter crumble.

«Swan,» he tried, stepping closer. He needed to warn her, he needed to-

The dog turned his head, his whole body going still the moment his golden brown eyes fell on Killian. It was as if he'd suddenly heard his master's words.

An odd and chilling sensation settled deep inside Killian's bones.

And then, the dog's eyes began to glow a deep, dark red.

«What-»

«Bloody hell!»

«Fuck.»

Killian couldn't even find it in himself to sigh, too worried about what would happen now.

«What the hell is that?» Robin finally decided to intervene, the grip on his bow getting firmer, the fingers of his free hand twitching, clearly desiring to notch an arrow and shoot the creature.

«_That_, Robin, is a hellhound.»

Everyone stared at Killian, jaws dropping in disbelief. «He's a _what_?» Emma asked, pulling her hand away and standing. When she stepped away from the dog, something inside of Killian died a bit. If this was her reaction to a simple dog, she would cut him out completely once she knew about his true nature.

«_How_ do you know that?»

«Yes, darling, how do you know?»

Killian whirled around, dread tightening its icy fingers around him like a vice, making him feel as if he'd been drowning and the water had frozen over all around him, encasing him in its deadly embrace.

He knew that voice, and he should've thought about it before embarking on this let's-hunt-a-ghost adventure.

His brother's voice was damning him in seven different languages from the ether for forgetting about the woman who'd killed him and their mother. The woman Killian had killed.

«Eloise,» he spat, unconsciously moving in front of Emma. They didn't know what Eloise was capable of; they didn't know how dangerous she was. There was an absurd lack of knowledge lately, it might have been better if they'd just forgotten all about monsters and whatnot for the rest of their lives, especially since said lives seemed to shorten by the minute.

The fluctuating ghost squinted, glaring at Killian as her upper lip curled in a light snarl. Killian's mouth quirked, almost betraying a smile. Oh, she still hated to be called with the pseudonym she'd used to infiltrate his family's life.

There was always a drop of contentment when you managed to succeed in irritating your adversary when facing certain death.

«Jones,» Robin cut in, fingers brushing the feathers at the back of the arrow he'd grabbed, «how?»

Killian knew he wasn't asking him how he knew Eloise, not now: he was asking him how to take her down, if he knew where her bones were buried or if he knew another way to defeat her.

The ghost tilted her head, her lips curling into a cruel smirk. «Yes, _Jones_, do you know how to banish the ghost of the woman _you_ killed?»

Between the four of them, they'd killed their fair share of creatures, some more dangerous than others, therefore being accused of another death wasn't strange. It _was_, however, when said accusation came straight from the victim.

Killian growled low in his throat. «I only wish I had considered you'd find a way to come back and torment me after killing my family.»

Eloise laughed, a deafening sound that still filled his nightmares. «Oh, Killian, you still are the same naïve young man you were years ago,» she patronized him, fluctuating closer and extending her right arm to take his chin between her thumb and forefinger. Even if she couldn't touch him, his nature allowed him to sense her as if she was still alive. «There is no way a witch as powerful as your mother could care for someone, not even the fruits of her own womb.» She pulled away, laughing quietly to herself. «Especially when they are the spawn of the demon who broke her heart.»

A massive shadow flew past Killian. It would've hit the witch straight in the chest if she'd been human. The hellhound, now looking more like a huge black wolf instead of a pup, got back on his legs, face low as if ready to attack her again, ready to protect his Master.

It wasn't a coincidence the hellhound had showed up today, not the day _she_ had showed up again, haunting him so to finish what she'd started five years ago. At the time, he'd been just a lad of seventeen, the magic from his mother's side reacting to his raging hormones and his father's inheritance presenting just then, threatening to corrupt his soul.

A loud laugh echoed through the open space of what used to be a beautiful garden, Killian was sure of that. It reminded him-

«Bloody bastard,» he seethed, recognizing this place as his childhood home. He was certain it wasn't the same place, not when that was in the outskirts of London and was kept by a nice butler named Smee. No, this was an illusion, an admirable one, especially for a dead witch.

_Bloody fuck_.

«We're not alone,» Killian realized in a whisper, warning his friends at the same time.

As if summoned, cloaked figures emerged from the shadows cast by the trees.

«A coven,» Robin breathed, clearly scared. There was little that scared the man like a witch did, his beloved wife had died by the hand of one of the most cruel ones, whose half-sister bewitched him during a full moon night and conceived a daughter. Said daughter was now part of the Merry Men, had no ounce of magic flowing through her veins, and was a good archer herself. Robin's hatred for witches was another reason why Killian had stayed silent about Emma and himself. Funny how now he wished he'd let her cultivate her magic. It would've made it easier.

The scenery around them changed drastically, more ruins scattered all over the place, the area like a green desert devoured by poison ivy and briars erupting from the center of the earth. A quick glance was all Killian needed to recognize that plant, that _magical_ remedy Eloise had claimed would cure Liam's poisoned heart, a heart she'd poisoned herself to keep Killian away from him, to make him go against his mother's wishes and ask Eloise for help. He'd been partially responsible for his family's death, but had thought he'd avenged them. What a fool.

Killian's jaw was clenched so tightly, it felt like it would disintegrate in a fraction of a second. «Do not touch that plant,» he warned his friends, hoping he could still call them 'friends' and that they would listen to him. At least about the dreamshade.

Warm fingers laced through his. Looking down, Killian found himself shocked to realize the hand holding his belonged to Emma. That shouldn't be happening, she should've been scared, ready to kill him and pissed because he'd not told her the truth about his nature.

Instead, Emma just smiled, reassuring. «Let's end this bitch and make sure there'll be a later in which you'll reply to all my questions, alright?»

Killian almost laughed. That was his Swan, the woman who'd bewitched him. What a relief it was that she'd not done that _literally_. He found himself nodding, squeezing her hand in return. She was real, she was alive. «There's something you need to know, love,» Killian murmured in a hurry, knowing that Eloise was watching, listening, waiting for the right moment.

As if she was dying to prove just that, Eloise laughed. «Oh, my, Killian, you haven't told her?» A tsk left her lips, head shaking; the way her many braids moved made her mane look like Medusa's, evil snakes ready to end a life. Even if she was a ghost, the witch was powerful, Killian had known then and he knew it now, standing once more in front of her. She was crueler than most, and Killian had known his fair share of evil creatures. It was surprising, even with the past he had with her, that she'd managed to create a coven of witches clearly ready to reach her even in the land of the dead.

A thought shot through his mind, but was quickly cast aside when Emma spoke again, her nails digging into the flesh at his wrist. It was all she could do to keep herself in check, to restrain herself from asking Eloise what Killian had hidden from her. Unexpectedly, the hellhound growled. Killian cast him a quick glance, wondering. The hound snapped his head towards him, red eyes glowing in understanding. A thrill ran down Killian's spine, excitement and terror mingling together.

«Oh, I don't think so,» Eloise said, snapping Killian out of his thoughts. «Gretel,» she called, and the hound was enveloped in briars of nightshade, the thorns magically elongated to penetrate through his thick fur and pierce the skin.

The hound howled in despair, a blood-curdling sound which shot painfully through Killian's heart. There were legends about hellhounds, that they were born with a demon and would stand by them for eternity, and even if they weren't linked from birth, they could serve under only one demon forever, becoming their companion.

As far as he knew, Killian had never seen the dog before, but in that moment he couldn't deny it: they were bonded, somehow.

And, somehow, they had to find a way to free him. The poison wouldn't kill him, but it would make him weak, and the tight grip the briars had on him made it impossible for the hound to move.

He was their only chance to destroy Eloise for good.

Unless, of course, a miracle happened, but "up there", they had never been much for helping.

A choked scream and the dull sound of a body falling to the leaves-covered ground made Killian look towards the treeline, where a cloak was gathered in a heap, its hood not revealing the face beneath. It wasn't the body itself that caught the attention, but the arrow stuck in the woman's chest, emerging proudly from it.

He couldn't help but look back, disbelieving eyes settling on a quite smug Robin.

The man just shrugged, totally looking like one of those western characters that would've blown the steam away from a Colt after a perfect shot. «Zelena _was_ a bit helpful,» he said, grabbing another arrow, arrow that was apparently capable to penetrate through some magical shield and that the witches couldn't just push away with a wave of their hand.

He didn't want to think about it much.

Eloise looked enraged.

«As you can see, Eloise-»

«It's Mother _Gothel_,» she screeched like a banshee. In less than a second, a clap of thunder pierced the air and their ears.

She wasn't supposed to have powers. _She was also supposed to be dead_, Killian hissed to himself. But no, it wasn't her magic, it was her coven's. How she could master it, however, was a mystery he didn't care to uncover, too afraid it would corrupt him irredeemably. All his life, Killian had walked a thin line, like a funambulist balancing on a tightrope, trying not to succumb to the darkness inside him calling, tempting him. And oh, was he so tempted right now. But he couldn't: he had too much at stake.

For the right cause, though, he might.

«Funny,» Killian ground through his teeth, «you've entered my life as Eloise, and left it as such. I know no Gothel, and you certainly are no mother.»

The moment the last word left his mouth, Killian raised his left arm, creating a barrier between them and Eloise's ghost, keeping the witches on the other side as well.

For a few, interminable seconds, nobody spoke. It was as if time had stopped completely.

«Why the bloody hell didn't you do that earlier?» Will asked in indignation.

Killian whirled around and looked at him, shock marring his features even if he was quick to school it. «And risk being hit by one of Rob's arrows? Thank you, but no, thank you.»

Will huffed, shaking his head. He was clearly about to say something snarky but a whimper left him speechless. What left Killian speechless, though, was Will striding to the briars and cutting them with impressive accuracy, careful not to touch the thorns. Killian had to bite his tongue not to warn him about them again.

Once free, the hound shook his whole body, black blood leaking from the puncture wounds and darkening the fur. Killian felt his heart ache at the sight, the dog's pain seeping into his soul as if it was his own.

Still maintaining the barrier up, aware of the numerous spells being cast against it. Storing up his magic for years might have made him weak in certain aspects, but he still had the strength of a demon. Eloise had chosen the wrong hybrid to mess with. _Fool me once_…

«Shhh,» Killian gently hushed the hound, who leaned his head into Killian's open palm when he brought it up to brush the soft fur, kneeling on the ground. The dog nosed his palm, leaving a cold wetness behind. He could feel a rush of power between them, their bond serving as a healing spell and so much more: Killian could sense the hound's wounds remarginate and his pain slowly quench.

It was like the vibrating sound of a music note, the sensation penetrating Killian's entire body, settling deep inside his bones where it kept humming quietly, still present and impossible to forget about.

The hound opened his mouth, panting, and his tongue lolled out in the resemblance of a smile which Killian reciprocated, a spark of normality - as much as a bond between a hybrid and a hellhound could be - in the very middle of a war.

A moment later, when another spell hit the barrier, the hound moved a few steps back, starting to tremble slightly.

Knowing what was about to happen, Killian rushed back to his feet. «Stay back,» he whispered, hand connecting with Emma's arm. He didn't look at her, not wanting to face whatever emotion he would read in her wonderful jade eyes. Anger, disappointment, sadness… he deserved it all.

«Jones?» Will asked in mild panic, eyes almost falling out of his head, watching as the hound slowly grew in height and mass in front of them. A quick glance at Eloise's raging expression made Killian's smirk widen.

When the hound stopped trembling, he stretched on his front legs, deadly sharp nails clawing at the ground, his tail curling over his back.

Will blanched visibly once the hound stood in all his magnificence, his withers reaching Killian's shoulders.

«Bloody hell.»

«Magnificent,» Killian breathed, the demonic beauty of the hound was breathtaking, enchanting, even. _The charm of evil_.

The blood red eyes of the hound gleamed, breaking Killian out of his reverie. As much as he would've loved to take his time to bond with his new friend, time was running out. He turned to Emma, her unintelligible expression a wound to his heart.

«Swan,» he said, almost taking her hands in his before thinking twice about it and curling his fingers into fists, nails biting painfully into his palms. «We need to create a portal to hell.»

«_We_?» she asked, shock breaking through her emotions like the sun on a cloudy day.

«_Hell_?»

After all that was sorted out, they would need to check Will's mental health: all of these new bits of information and emotions were taking their toll on him.

Robin, meanwhile, just rolled his eyes. It was strange, how calm he was about all of this, as if he knew. Or, perhaps, he was just very good at bottling everything up under pressure, which was something to give him credit for.

«Aye, love, _we_.» Killian took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. «Forgive my bluntness, I wish I'd told you all of this sooner. You have magic, Emma. Someone, a warlock or witch, must have locked it with their magic-»

«Someone put a spell on me?»

A smile threatened to appear on his face. «As a matter of fact, yes. Someone did, and if we had the time, I could try and search for their signature, but we don't. I can, however, unlock your magic. After this, we need to create a portal to hell to allow my hound to get to my father.» Killian rushed out the last sentence, ashamed of his parentage. No, not quite ashamed of who he was, but of how he would be perceived by Emma. His mother had been an exception, but there was a question that had haunted him for years: who could ever love a demon?

Emma held his gaze, studying him, searching for a lie, a trick, something that had changed in Killian in the last few minutes, and he couldn't help but hold his breath, hoping the knowledge that he wasn't completely human wouldn't break the trust she placed him.

Whatever doubt she had, even the most quiet alarm bell in the back of her mind, meant nothing, _was_ nothing: what Killian was wouldn't change _who_ he was, not to her eyes.

«Do it.» It was barely a whisper, yet Killian heard it. When disbelief morphed his features, Emma squeezed his hands, pronouncing three words she'd never told anyone: «I trust you.»

Killian's mouth hung open, her confession clearly unexpected. It shouldn't have surprised him: everything Emma Swan did was unexpected.

For the briefest moment, he wondered how kissing her would make things turn out. For everyone's sake, it was best he didn't. Later, perhaps.

«The barrier won't hold for much longer,» he said hurriedly, his spell weakening already. _Too soon_. «Unlocking your magic will drain mine, as will the ritual to open the portal. I'll need to access your magic, and to do so, I'll need you to trust me. Completely.»

If he thought he'd see even the barest flicker of doubt in her eyes, Killian found himself pleasantly disappointed by his own assumptions. There was no trace of distrust, and if another spell hadn't hit the barrier and the hound hadn't growled in warning, Killian would've kissed her.

Forcing himself to look away from Emma, he looked at Robin and a still shell-shocked Will. «The moment the portal closes, the barrier won't protect you anymore. You have to be ready.»

Robin nodded, readying the arrows. He was scanning his surroundings, clearly going over his own shooting strategy again. «How long until your new… _mate_ comes back?»

Killian sighed. He feared what would happen next. Summoning a Prince of Hell - nay, _begging_ him to come without a proper ritual - would entail destruction, death, some even believed the Apocalypse. Only once had he been summoned, and it had ended up with him falling in love with a witch.

_What a coincidence_, Killian mused, then shook his head.

«Hopefully, not much.» And he meant it: time in Hell ran differently, it either stretched or sped up depending on which nightmare the devil or a demon torturer wanted their victim to relive. Demons had quite the twisted sense of justice, more leaning towards vengeance. Yet, they would still call it justice, and sometimes Killian found himself wondering when exactly the line was crossed.

Once Robin nodded, slowly, assimilating this new information, Killian nodded back.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to Emma, grateful no hesitation could be seen on her face. His heart skipped a beat or two, the faith she was putting in him an unbelievable concept to him. Shaking off any uncertainty he may have, Killian curled his fingers around hers. «Follow my lead. Whatever you do, please, please, don't let go until it's over.»

Emma nodded, and whatever fear Killian had finally loosened its grip on him. He might not have practiced much in the last years, but growing up, he'd read his mother's and ancestors' grimoire over and over, memorizing spells and potions of all kinds: if there was something Killian Jones knew as the back of his hand, was magic.

Closing his eyes brought darkness, yet he could feel and hear everything that was going on around him, every breath of air, every spell sent their way, the tremors shaking the still-standing barrier between them and certain death.

And then, he sensed it, his magic.

It was neither pure or dark, it was just magic, made to be used whether for bad or good, but never defined by its own nature. It purred like a cat, stretching just like a feline until it was ready to attack, to spread death all around whether he allowed it to.

_Not now_, he hushed it gently, making it almost pout in disappointment. He chuckled inwardly before settling into a more serious attitude.

As if without any rush, Killian let his magic flow from him to Emma, the enchantment he knew - the one he'd searched for just in case, the one he'd studied night and day and wondered if it would ever be useful - already on his lips.

Words could only describe the blocking spell someone had cast on Emma as such: a plug preventing the water to descend into a drain, a cork forced into a glass bottle, a tightly fastened iron well curb, yet clearly something that wasn't easily removable.

For Killian, such a spell wasn't an easy task, and his mother was a clearly better witch, but he wasn't stupid either. Yet, when his magic touched the block, he recognized it like he would recognize Alice's embrace when he came home from school, excited to tell her about his days.

It took him all his strength not to open his eyes and let go of Emma's hands in shock.

_Mum_, he thought sadly, longingly, wanting to make the moment last a little bit longer when wishing for more time wasn't an option.

Her warm smile flashed before his closed eyes, and Killian tugged gently at the block as if he were a ribbon on a gift, his mom's magic dissolving like ripples on the water's surface when they were too far out of reach, much like Alice Jones was.

Killian had no idea why she'd blocked Emma's magic, answers could be found later, cried and fought upon, but now there were more pressing matters at hand.

It was as if the block had waited for him to free the magic inside of the loner girl haunting his dreams; if this was destiny or not, Killian hadn't the faintest idea.

A gasp pierced his focused mind. Emma's palms were slick with sweat against his, but she didn't let go, tightening her grip on his hands. Her fingers were holding on so tightly he knew they'd leave faint bruises in their wake.

_Stay with me_, Killian murmured in her mind, using his own presence and magic to calm her. Through their connection, Killian could sense how she felt, her terror, how she was overwhelmed yet felt complete, and that spark of curiosity would soon become a bonfire, that he knew for sure: when he'd been a child, he'd felt just like that.

Sadness broke through all those emotions, and Killian was surprised and ashamed when he realized Emma, too, could feel _him_. He had clearly underestimated this connection, far more intimate than he'd thought it would be.

Her magic and Killian's touched, creating inside them tiny fireworks with the power of a thousand suns. Had it happened during some other moment, a more private, intimate one, they would've let it consume them, and it wasn't the first time Killian fantasized-

Nails dug gently into his skin.

Biting back his smirk, Killian let himself admire Emma's magic - so unbelievably pure - before focusing on the other spell.

Many were the ways to create a portal between worlds, or realms, as Killian preferred to call them, but only one was the way to summon a portal to Hell, very different than summoning demons, and more dangerous as well.

The only way in - and out, for that matter - consisted of pronouncing a simple spell in an archaic language known to demons only, and a demon's blood.

The moment he changed his hold over her hand and placed it above the other two, a surge of power shot through his right arm. Freeing his hand from Emma's hold but making sure she wouldn't let go of him, Killian held out his arm, the sleeve riding up enough to expose his wrist.

He felt confusion coming from Emma, and he squeezed her hand in return, reassuring her everything was alright and getting a squeeze from both her hands in return, but it all disappeared when a stinging pain shot up his forearm.

As gently as he could, the hellhound had pierced his skin, allowing four rivulets of blood to smear Killian's pale skin. Thick drops of blood fell on the ground. As soon as they touched the earth, it began to shake.

Differently from what many believed, Hell wasn't located at the center of the earth: much like other realms, it existed in parallel.

The earth shook, but didn't open, not in a literal way. What appeared next to them was the mouth of a vortex, burgundy and black mingling together as flaming lightning appeared from time to time and Robin and Will's eyes were dragged towards its center, a dreadful yet hypnotizing sight, much like all things evil.

Killian felt his knees weaken, and he locked them, holding onto Emma to support himself.

Sensing the hound's hesitation, Killian uttered his strong order: «Go.»

In a matter of seconds, just as Killian felt the tip of the hound's tail disappear, the portal closed.

The earth stopped shaking and, for a few instants, everything became still.

Until Killian's knees hit the ground, and the barrier around them shattered.


End file.
